Tale of 'hatchet man' still brings laughs

Sunday

Jan 29, 2012 at 12:01 AMJan 29, 2012 at 1:31 PM

We were a group of district managers for a well-known cosmetics company. The New York office decided to cut back on the number of managers in Ohio and sent "the hatchet man" to Columbus to give us the bad news.

We were a group of district managers for a well-known cosmetics company. The New York office decided to cut back on the number of managers in Ohio and sent "the hatchet man" to Columbus to give us the bad news.

He was a cocky, obnoxious little man, full of his own importance. He hadn't been with the company that long himself, but he was obviously more important than we were.

We sat in a hotel room waiting to be interviewed. We were all hardworking, conscientious, dependable women. One by one, we were called into the room. Our division manager was there to greet us. And there he was, this little twerp, with a smirk on his face, giving his rehearsed speech.

I had to hold my hurt and anger in. He didn't know us! He had no idea how hard we worked, the hours we put in to promote a company and product we believed in.

The smirk on his face is what irritated me the most as he asked me so condescendingly, "So, Mrs. Vasquez, what are your plans for the future?" I smiled and said, "I think with the money I saved, I'm going to buy a neighborhood bar. And when the company fires you, which I'm sure they will, maybe I will hire you as a bartender."

I could hardly keep a straight face as his jaw dropped. His ego deflated, he tried a weak smile as I said goodbye. My division manager walked me to the door, gave me a hug, trying not to laugh at my audacity, though she knew how close I was to tears.

This happened many years ago. The other managers and I still get together once a month for lunch and a reminiscing laugh or two.

I never did buy a bar. Don't suppose I really thought I ever would.

The "hatchet man" didn't last very long with the company,

either. I don't know what happened to him. But I doubt he would ever be smart enough

to be a bartender.

- Lynn VasquezColumbus

'Little buddy'

I worked as a supervisor in a paper mill from 1968 to 1993, the year I retired. For those who don't know, a paper mill is a dirty, smelly place that operates 24 hours a day and shows no mercy for those who choose to work there.

I sometimes ended up with the misfits and less desirables. On this particular day, personnel sent to me a small, almost-boyish little fellow who was not performing at a level good enough to make the grade for employment. Every task he was given just wasn't something he could perform satisfactorily.

His job was to get rolls from storage and bring them to the staging area to be loaded on a machine that cut them into sheets. He was given all of the information about which rolls were needed. He brought up the wrong rolls. This caused a problem because we had to shut down the equipment and lose valuable time.

After a few disasters, I took him to the office where we could discuss our problem in private. When I asked why he had brought up the wrong rolls, he just stared and didn't answer. I asked if he needed a job, and he said yes. I asked if he wanted to work for our company, and he said yes.

At this point, I told him he would have to give me a reason for his noncompliance or I would have to let him go. He said nothing, but I could see a tear slowly sliding down his cheek. At that point, I almost begged him for an answer.

He looked at me and said, "Tom, I can't read or write." I could hardly believe it. From then on, every day I would mark all of his rolls that were needed and he became as good as anyone on the job.

Fast-forward to 1993, and I had prostate cancer, and it needed to come out. I contracted an infection in the hospital and almost died. I was off work for three months, but I came back to work for a week and retired.

Over the years, "little buddy," as I called him, and I had built a pretty good friendship. I wanted to see him and tell him goodbye before I retired. I found where he was working and went to visit. He was always a small fellow, but what I found is still in my memory today.

He had lost much weight and had a ghostly appearance. He had colon cancer and had been to the hospital that morning for chemo. He told me he was dying. I told him of my ordeal and that he could beat it.

He said he had fought hard but thought he was losing. He thanked me for helping him years ago. I then gave him a big hug, and we stood there, both crying.

My little buddy died a few months later, but his memory lives with me.

- Tom Glatting

Chillicothe

Not an obscene call

I run a phone room at a small market-research company, and we hear many reasons for not participating in surveys.

On one project we worked on several years ago, I heard the same, most-unusual reason for not answering questions from two different people.

We were interviewing librarians about their interest in a proposed new software product. I spoke to one woman who said that she didn't want to participate in the survey because the last time she agreed to be interviewed, it turned out to be an obscene phone call.

I did not know what to say to this. I marked the call as refused to participate, and moved on to the next call. Two days later, while working on the same project, another female librarian said that she usually enjoyed participating in surveys but no longer did so because the last time she agreed, the call turned out to be an obscene phone call.

I was a little faster on the uptake this time, and I asked the woman if she would like us to have a female interviewer call her. She said since I asked this question, I could go ahead with the interview.

This was a good thing because we were close to a deadline, and we had been sweating having enough names and numbers to reach our quotas.

I wondered later if there was someone with a fetish for librarians who was masquerading as a market-research interviewer.

- John C. StevensColumbus

Work Stories appears whenever there is a fifth Sunday in a month. The next installment will appear April 29. Readers with work stories to share may send them in care of Ron Carter, Dispatch business editor,

34 S. Third St., Columbus,

OH 43215 or via email,

rcarter@dispatch.com.

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